Believe It Or Not
by Aranel Laerien
Summary: Early 2005 work - posted with minimal editing: "A life for a life... Would anyone die for me?" "I would."
1. The Accursed Thing

Chapter 1 – The Accursed Thing

Chapter 1 – The Accursed Thing

"Write a personal recount in which a person suffered for another's wrong-doing."

Legolas stared at the otherwise blank parchment, trying hard to think, but no ideas came forth. The water in the clock was dripping steadily away, and when it finally drained, he was to hand in his work. _Drip, drip… _He did not exactly have a lot of time.

He looked over to his left. Three rows away, Aragorn was already scribbling. Just how did that man write so fast? Just then, Aragorn turned and winked. Now, what was that supposed to mean?

Aragorn shrugged lightly, as though in answer to the question. Whenever the ranger had that glint in his eyes, it was an ill omen. _Drip, drip…_ Aragorn turned back quickly to his work. He did not like _that_ sound the least bit.

Sighing, Legolas forced himself to think, to recall events that had happened in his three millennia of life. Why did he have to write this? Would his tutor even look at it? He sighed. Perhaps he could use the incident of Elladan being grounded when Elrohir had decided that Glorfindel needed a bath (in terms of a barrel hanging above his bed). But he did not seem to have any intention to write on that. After all, the incident was already half-forgotten, and should remain that way. No one should ever anger a resurrected Balrog-slayer. So, what else was there?

His mind flitted between memories and fantasies now, and he laughed lightly, breaking the golden silence of the lesson pavilion. Some irritated elves turned and gave him an annoyed stare, clearly unhappy with his interruption of their flow of thought.

Doesn't everyone grow tense during an examination? he thought with wry amusement.

Shrugging, he paid little heed to them, for he had finally found something to write about, something no one would probably believe. _Drip, drip… _He did not like that sound. It was too insistent, too pressurizing.

His quill flew over the parchment. "Once upon a time…

Flashback

It was another typical day out in the wild. There was the usual stuffy afternoon air, which the trees did not seem to relieve. There was an orc company coming their way. There was a fight. There was some remarkable swordplay. The orcs were decimated before they did any harm, and that was all. A typical day.

Aragorn walked through the carnage, checking the spoils, ensuring that all of the foul creatures were dealt with. It was then that his eye sighted in on a sword, elaborately carved with strange yet curious pagan motifs and runes. He picked up the surprising light blade, liking its feel instantly. He remembered how that orc captain had used this, and fought as though he was invincible. The captain had wielded the sword well, and at times, it had felt as though it was the sword wielding him instead.

The man slid his finger gently along the blade. There was no sign of any dents, and the blade still gleamed menacingly as though it had never been used. From its rusty-golden hilt all the way through the cold steel blade, and the sharp, elegant, this was indeed a sword like no other. Its weight and balance were impeccable and every inch forged to perfection. And there was some indescribable charm that it exerted on him, but he liked it, he enjoyed the feeling, and grew even fonder of the sword.

Legolas walked over to where the human was still examining his prize in awe. The human had been his companion since a week ago, when they had met in the midst of a battle against swarming orcs, and their comradeship was valuable and beneficial to both parties; it was the elf who had finally defeated the orc captain and this sword, but it was the human who had taken down the majority of the orcs.

"Powerful though it may be, you must never use it. Leave it with the dead," the elf said, a stern glare in his face.

The human shrugged and made as though to discard the knife in the fiery mound of orc bodies, but when the elf turned away, he hid the blade in his cloak. How could he pass up such a fine weapon? What did the elf know? Who was he to order him around? For all he knew, the elf might have plans to take the sword for his own and harm him. He had no right to tell him what to do!

More orcs again, and this time, they were fighting deep in the woods. Elf and human were still journeying together, and although they had no spoken of their destination, both guessed to other to be bound for Imladris like he was. The elf had moved away from him in the fight, and the man was almost glad for it. At least, he would no longer have to be constantly watched and have his every action scrutinised.

"Why do you stomp so hard?"

"Why can't you use your wrist; it's faster!"

"Why don't you ever aim before you shoot?"

The human felt that these could drive any sane man mad instantly. Thankfully, he had the patience of the Númenóreans to protect him from being driven to such an extent. It was thus, when he was not focussing on the battle that he was caught off-guard. A scimitar slashed his arm, and he let out an undignified yelp in surprise. How could that possibly happen!

Suddenly, he felt time slow down and all the noise fade into muffled sounds. Only one thought remained clear: he had a good weapon, that orc blade. Why should he fear to use it? If he did not do so, he would probably fall at the hands of the black sea of orcs.

With a clear mind, he pulled the knife out, discarding his sword onto the forest floor; he had no use for that now. He felt himself revitalised, strengthened as he manoeuvred the blade with a skill and might he had never known. It seemed to have a spirit of its own, and he was content to let the blade carry out its errand, watching in mounting ecstasy at the piling orc bodies. Another down at the bidding of the sword. He was doing very well indeed.

The he stopped abruptly. There were no more orcs to kill. The elf was dispatching the last one and looking around.

The human saw his chance. With unprecedented speed, he made it to the being's side and thrust the blade forward. Legolas' eyes widened. What was Aragorn doing? Why was he using this blade? The human's eyes were glazed, as though caught in some form of a trance. The recent days of fighting had over-worked Legolas' muscles, but he forced his fatigue away, bringing his weapons to parry the furious attacks.

Aragorn knew he was stabbing wildly, but he did not care. It was an orc attack that had killed his father and doomed his mother to spend her remaining years in grief and agony. But it was because of the elves, because of their inability to protect his father, that everything happened. Elladan and Elrohir had acknowledged their mistake, but others were responsible as well. The skirmish had been close enough to the Rivendell territory, but no help had come. Why had they refused to send aid? Did they truly wish the dúnedain dead?

Then he would not let them have their victory. He would exterminate every last one of them, starting with this one; all elves were the same. Somehow, it did not seem to make sense, even to him, but it felt right. Aragorn let the creature before him feel the full blunt of his rage, forcing each attack to be more deft, more deadly, more vicious than the previous.

Legolas found it increasingly difficult to ward off the attacks. Just what was that man thinking? Did he really mean to kill him? Probably so. Legolas suddenly slammed both daggers hard down on the sword, wrenching it from the human's white-knuckled grasp.

The human watched, spellbound as it sailed through the air, narrowly missed being embedded in a tree and landed on the ground with a clear clatter. Aragorn found himself close before the flashing, irate eyes of the elf, and involuntarily took a step backwards.

"Why did you take it?" the elf asked in a soft, highly measured tone, trying not to show his seething wrath.

"What I do is none of your concern!" the man shouted at him, retreating further back. The elf was blocking his way to the sword and he desperately hankered after it.

Legolas clamped a hand on his shoulder.

"You do not know what you've done, my friend," he said, still in that even tone.

Aragorn could take it no more, and let out an unrestrained outburst, "I take orders from no one, least of all you! I am sick and tired of you constantly telling me what to do and what not to do! I have my own life and I shall live as I please!"

The human had reached the endpoint of tolerance. He could no longer think if what he said would hurt the elf, and if he did, he would not be sorry for it.

Legolas shook his head sadly. "I'm sorry for what I have imposed upon you," he said with sincere regret.

Aragorn only gave him a stubborn look and stormed away.

"Ú-istach i nad cerich, mellon nîn," Legolas repeated into the aid, "you do not know what you do, my friend."

There was a strained silence once again as the two companions walked on. Legolas had personally ensured that the blade was burnt, and that the human would have no chance of retrieving it. Expectedly, Aragorn felt that the elf was being more bothersome by the day. That was a good blade; just why did the elf not only fail to see that but insist it was enchanted? Surely the elf would have to leave soon, and he could be alone and free to do what he desired; the first task being to locate the blade and hope it had not been destroyed beyond repair.

Legolas was now singing softly to himself, and Aragorn tried to force himself not to hear anything, tried to block the sound out. The song seemed to be eliciting thoughts and feelings that he did not want to face. It seemed to suggest that all he had clung onto was falsehood and deception. How could that be?

There was nothing worth singing about, he told himself, it is a terrible sound, and dreadfully annoying; too far beneath him to warrant his attention.

But the more he tried, the more the words penetrated his thoughts, infiltrated his mind, and soon, his resolve broke down.

_The sky is blue, the forest fair_

_And sweet breaths filled the air_

_Then evil thoughts brew, and tempers flare,_

_For reasons no one ever seems to care._

_Oh, get you back within the fold,_

_Where friendship dear grows never cold,_

_And walk not alone through paths untold_

In books of lore and tales of old…

Legolas smiled at how a simple song could contort Aragorn's face into so many shades and nuances of emotions; anger, sadness, apprehension… He let the song flow and trail slowly away.

"Goheno nin, Legolas," Aragorn's meek voice came softly through the rustling breeze, "forgive me."

"You have long been forgiven," Legolas replied, smiling warmly, "understand my friend, I mean you no harm."

Aragorn nodded numbly, unable to think of any other way to express his gratitude, his relief, his remorse, but there was no need to. Legolas' eyes told him he understood.

By now, they had reached an open field, and their moods were instantly lifted. Two pairs of eyes bore the same mischievous twinkle, that playful sparkle, and when they looked at each other, no needs were needed to confirm their thoughts. In unanimous unison, they took off running, chasing each other, taunting, teasing, revelling in the freedom of the unobstructed plain, the endless sky…

The wind blew in their faces, carrying their carefree laughter to the lands beyond. Nothing else seemed to matter in those instances as they frolicked like children who had just left a claustrophobic darkness.

"You are proving to be as hard to catch as you brothers!" Legolas was almost panting, although he would never admit it.

The man was surprisingly fast, and the many feints he made as he slipped past the elf were pushing him towards the brink of annoyance. How could a mere mortal delude him so! But his chuckles showed that he was far from anger.

"They are the best teachers anyone can get," Aragorn laughed between pants as he increased his speed even further, "no one can defeat the sons of Elrond when it comes to such mischief, no, not even the Dark Lord himself, much less the Prince of Mirkwood!"

Legolas could not stop the chortle that escaped him. For his lack of elven speed, Aragorn more than made up for it with more tricks up his sleeves. Legolas decided to surrender as graciously as he could. Although he was in no way weary – or at least he did not show it – he did not share his friend's boundless, inexhaustible fount of energy.

Flopping onto the cooling grass, he called after the human, "Let's end this here, my friend. It will not do for two tired beings to roam the wild."

Aragorn leapt over and sat beside him, inwardly glad for the respite, although he too would give no indication of it. The two friends allowed themselves a moment to gaze upon their surroundings, feeling the beauty of every blade of grass, every fluttering leaf.

It was a while later before Legolas finally spoke in a shaky voice, quivering with ill-controlled laughter, "Aragorn, do you realise what you've stepped on?"

The man's face instantly carried a worried look as he got up, trying to find out what had caused his friend such glee. The next second, a scowl emerged on his face, and he looked set to strangle the helplessly laughing elf.

"Actually, it's nothing, isn't it?" Legolas managed to gasp out between chuckles, "only a bit of manure!"

Aragorn responded with a dark look.

"Shouldn't you watch before you leap?" Legolas could not resist adding, "although it matters little to a ranger who enjoys rolling in mud!"

Aragorn's face only grew redder and more sinister, as he desperately tried to brush the dung off his boots on the pitiable grass growing near him.

"Well, at least you'll frighten the orcs, or what we'll encounter," Legolas had managed to sober himself up somewhat, but his eyes still contained that unhidden amusement. Aragorn was indeed a pleasure to watch.

The temptation to tread on the prone elf was growing stronger by the second, but before anything could be done, a deafening clap of thunder shook the Earth.

It was then that the duo saw thick heavy, grey-clad clouds hanging in the overcast sky. A bright flash of lightning lit up the dullness in an eerie blue light, before thunder came crashing down again. As though that all was not enough, a dark shadow passed through the land, effectively blotting out the sun.

_Drip, drip… _Heavy drops of rain pattered down.

Legolas shuddered. This was no mere storm. Aragorn seemed to have felt the malevolence present in the stale air as well. No gale would howl as though it carried the cries of all foul-creatures and the pleas of all slain souls. When they turned to face each other, the mirth was gone from their eyes, replaced by a deep sense of worry… and fear.

"Who has summoned me?" a loud voice resonated within the valley, echoing off the nearby mountains.

Both human and elf could only freeze as the cold breath touched them, seemingly turning them to stone fixed in a tableau.


	2. A Nameless Fear

Chapter 2 – A Nameless Fear

Chapter 2 – A Nameless Fear

"Who are you?" Legolas finally found the courage to demand into the air.

There was no one that they could see, but they could sense its presence. The very air about them dripped with evil.

"You have wielded my sword," the being did not seem intent on answering any questions, "you shall serve me or die."

"Your-your sword?" Aragorn managed to stammer.

"You know what you have done," the menacing voice spoke ever so slowly.

"I will not serve you!" Aragorn shouted, enunciating each word clearly, "I will never ever submit!"

A strange sound, like a cackle. "You cannot defy me."

"Who are you?" Legolas asked again. This may have been Aragorn's own trouble, but now that he was here beside his friend, it would concern him.

"Me?" a rasping laugh shook the very ground they were on, "I am Evil. I am Darkness. My power is strong in Arda; there is none that can oppose me. My dominion spreads far and wide to the very ends of this land. Does the answer satisfy you?"

"You will have no hold on Aragorn. The Valar will not let you go guiltless!" Legolas' hope seemed secure.

"Oh?" the sneering voice grew unbearably loud, "where were they when I pulled down mountains and raised valleys? Where were they when I took the many souls? They cannot interfere in my affairs; they are powerless against me!"

"You shall not speak thus of them!" Legolas' rage was getting the better of him, and Aragorn was growing increasingly worried for his friend's safety.

There was another reverberating laugh, "Your hope is misplaced, elf, for there is none to help, save I alone!"

"NO-" Legolas shouted, but was interrupted before he could say any more.

"If you will follow me, I can give you all the riches of the world. We will rule it together and build an empire greater than any other. All shall fall at your feel, and you shall have no lack of goodly things," the offer was extended to Aragorn as well.

For a while, Aragorn and Legolas each saw himself in visions of grandeur and glory. King Elessar with Queen Arwen by his side, both leading immortal lives like all of their people. He was upon the throne of Gondor and Arnor, and all beings, men of Gondor, of Rohan, the East, the South, elves of the three realms; Elrond, Celeborn, Galadriel, Thranduil and all the creatures of the world paying homage to Aragorn, ruler over all Arda…

Prince Legolas, now King over all Rhovanion and all the lands of Arda and even Aman, sitting in comfort in the Palace of Greenwood the Great, now made even more wonderful than ever; far exceeding the beauty of the sacred Caras Galadhon, far exceeding the warmth of the hidden Imladris. Animals came unhindered in, birds flew over the no longer darkened land, all manner of fierce beasts toning down, lying harmlessly beside the tame creatures, orcs and spiders and all foul creatures driven completely from the forests, Dol Guldur brought down, destroyed at last…

"Never!" Aragorn's now firm voice spoke for the both of them, "we will never follow you!"

"And what can you do? You have no strength; you are nothing!"

There was silence before the voice came again, "The human has used my sword; he shall pay the price, whether he will or nil."

"You shall not touch him," Legolas' silent determination showed how prepared he was to go to any extreme to keep Estel alive.

"Why should I not? Why should you stop me? You, who has suffered at the hands of humans? You, who has no relation to this one?"

"You should have told me, Legolas," Aragorn whispered miserably, "you should have told me everything about the sword in the very beginning."

Legolas' eyes showed a deep compassion, but did not even hesitate.

"What good would it have done?" he asked softly, "would you have listened, then?"

"Perhaps I _would _have. You should have told me, you should have told me!" Aragorn's bitterness came in the form of mounting ire.

The Presence seemed content to leave them to argue on. It would do no harm, after all, except to themselves, and then, it could…

"I have told you all you needed to know," Legolas struggled to keep his cool, "it is enough."

Aragorn could no longer control his emotions, and, not caring if he sounded childish or illogical, he carried on, "But it is _not_! You could have said morel you should have! You should have said everything! Now, what choice do we have?"

"You have only one choice," the voice reiterated, "join me, or face your doom."

Legolas shook his head defiantly, "Your promises are vain; your words are sweet as honey, but behind them lie a forked tongue and a sword!"

But Aragorn was already drawn to what it said. His head felt dizzy and he was tired. Every last bit of caution seemed to flee from him as the pain in his throbbing head grew wilder. He could only think of one thing: he wanted it all to end. He closed his eyes, embracing the darkness as the last tendrils clinging on to his hope and resolve gave way. And he understood.

His eyes flew suddenly open, "I will sub-"

"Aragorn!" Legolas, completely taut and tense now, interrupted before the man could finish, fearful of what the man would try to say, "you cannot go, you must not!"

"I am weaned enough. I know what I am doing! You have no right to control me!"

"Aragorn, I have never sought to control you-"

"Yes, you have, you and the others of your kind. You always have!" Aragorn turned away, the tears stinging his eyes as he said those cruel words. He did not want to do this, but he had no choice. Short though his time with the elf had been, he would not involve the Prince in any matter of his own making. There was no other way.

"I see that you have a clear mind, after all. You are indeed destined for greatness, unlike your deluded friend here. You shall serve me; you shall give me your soul."

"Yes," the man said, never faltering.

"Is there no other way?" Legolas tethered on the brink of despair, "is there no other way at all?"

Even if there were no other reason, Aragorn was Estel; he was the hope of men. He must not be given to the evil. And the many who had come to love him, as a son, as a brother, as a loyal friend. What would they think? Legolas would rather die than to see that happen, to see hope encroached in darkness.

Unbeknownst to them, the Presence could read their thoughts as easily as perusing an open book. Hope of men? What was that to mean? But nothing else could be revealed from their minds. They were far too deeply clouded, far too strongly… resilient for it to probe any further. This could prove difficult. Nonetheless, the presence seemed to smile to itself. If the elf wished to take the place of the mortal, he had no reason to object. In fact, he had been secretly hoping for it.

"A life for a life," the voice boomed, deciding to allow the concession, "there is no other way."

"Then, there shall be hope," Legolas whispered softly to himself.

However, Aragorn heard this, and sounded incensed, "What do you mean by that? Don't you understand? A life for a life! Would anyone serve It on my behalf? Would anyone die for me!"

"I would," came the quiet reply.

There was yet another silence as each contemplated on what had befallen them, on how things had developed to such a point. This all was too incredible, too surreal to be true. How could such a thing have happened? Were they merely trapped in a nightmare? They did not know. And now, Legolas would…

Softly, Aragorn spoke in a trembling voice, "I barely know you. Why do you do this?"

"Because I know you, and love you as my brother; your life is precious in my sight. That is all," Legolas' resolution shone clearly through the dark fog, dispelling any doubts the man had.

Aragorn seemed too shocked to react. There was no reason for this. How could Legolas do this? After how the human treated him, after how he even tried to kill him? How could Legolas even forgive him for what he had done, much less be willing to sacrifice himself for him. Aragorn felt as though the world swirled around him even as the questions had done. Suddenly, he seemed to be locked up within his own territory, oblivious to all else save his thoughts.

"I will take his place, and I choose death," Legolas, Prince of Mirkwood had decided, and he would neither flinch nor withdraw his words.

"Why will you not join me? You shall die, though you be immortal. Your body shall decay in Arda and your soul shall lie restless in the shadows, unable to even enter the Halls of Mandos. Body and soul shall never be rejoined, and you shall never find peace. Is this to your liking?"

"Then, so shall it be," his voice was nonchalant, flat… dead. He could only trust that the Valar would not permit such a deed.

Aragorn practically screamed, having suddenly found his voice, "You cannot do this! You shall not do this!"

He was gripped by a sudden fear for his friend, help captive by a sudden bout of panic. How could the elf do this! Wasn't he immortal? What logic was there in an immortal sacrificing his life for a mere mortal doomed to die! He shouted again and again in grief, in anger.

But his words were unheeded.

"I hereby accept your payment," the Darkness seemed to not want any further wastage of time. An elf; this was indeed a rare victim. Only a slow, agonising death could justify the annulment of an immortal life. Oh, he would enjoy that. And the human would live with the stigma; he would live, consumed in guilt all his life, and that was far better than what if had originally planned for. A death that cannot bring release, a life that only brings anguish. What could supersede these?

Legolas' heart was racing, wondering if he had indeed done the right thing. And Aragorn was not helping. With eyes brimming with tears, the human reminded him of all things fair and beautiful.

What would his father say to this? With his passing, the King would lose the only family he had left. Would he heed the call of the sea, or would he fade in his grief? What would become of Mirkwood? His home, which he would never see again! Those forests, those slender trees, waving their branches and leaves cheerfully even in the gloom of the approaching evil…

And the sea! Legolas would never see it. He would never see the great gulls he had heard so much of. He would never hear the voice of Ulmo from the greatest depths of the waters. He would never feel the light sand beneath his feet as he soaked in the sea-air. He would not witness the sky reflected in the sea, the bodies of waters separated by a mere filament. He would never see…

Then, how would Aragorn feel about this? The man had grown quickly on him in the two weeks that they had spent together. What would the man be like? How would he react to his passing? How would others react to him? Would he let himself drown in guilt and sorrow? Would he seek to end his own life after being tormented by the Darkness?

Legolas began to shiver uncontrollably. He could sense the man kneeling on what was the grass, wrapping his arms around him, but there was little warmth that he could draw. The cold was far too strong, far too piercing, far too deep down. Ringing maniacal laughter mingling with the man's cries were the only things he was aware of.

"Legolas, Legolas!" Aragorn went on and on, "goheno nin, gwador nîn. Forgive me, my brother!"

Legolas tried hard to enunciate his thoughts, to tell him that all would be well; he wanted to give the man some hope or at least cause him not to despair, but he could not. The cold was consuming him, the howls of gales mirroring the ice in him, the ice storm in him, ravaging, tearing him apart from within. He tried his hardest to put on a brave front – he must not give the man any cause for worry – but that uncontrolled grimace as he felt his heart cramp revealed his innermost feelings.

Aragorn felt as though he had lost his anchor and was merely drifting aimlessly. There was a bond between Legolas and him; a bond not previously discovered, a bond unveiled now in the most dire of circumstances, a bond that was now about to be broken. And this bond would draw them both to the same end, whatever it may be. They would be together, in life… and death.

"You cannot leave thus," Aragorn would have done all he could to draw his fading brother back, "you cannot leave before your time…"

Legolas thought his heart would break. He knew he could not last far longer, and would soon have to leave. The cold was chilling, freezing his veins, choking every sensation. He could barely breathe, and his gasps came out, not warm like anyone else's, but as wintry, broken gusts of wind. Even the simplest act of breathing was getting more difficult. His heart seemed to be throbbing against the icy shell, trying to pump to no avail. Bur he felt peaceful deep down. Despite his body bordering on the edge of panicking, his mind was clear. Things would work out well. If it be thus for him to depart, so let it be…

Please, Aragorn, he thought pleadingly, you must accept this…

Drip, drip…

The rain still filtered down in that even, constant rhythm, unsympathetically, unfeelingly. Each drop was breaking, cracking, wasting itself as it burst on the ground, splashing lightly on the thin film of moisture already there.

And Aragorn watched the elf's glow diminish, watched him turn into an empty shell, a mere shroud, eyes closed, a frown etched permanently upon his brow. No amount of shaking and calling could cause him to return. His body was cold as ice, and he was already stiffing to be harder than stone. Aragorn pressed the elf's head gently towards him, but he showed not reaction. His sharp eyes would no longer see, his sensitive ears no longer hear. His lips would never quirk in that teasing smile when Aragorn tripped over yet another tree root.

"Legolas…" the lone voice cried in the mocking wind.

The elf could not go just like this! He could not go just for this… Aragorn thought he would shatter at that thought. It was him that forced Legolas to have to… go. Who should have been the one dying? Whose fault had it been! But now… Aragorn would give anything to have Legolas back again in the land of the living. Was the elf in a better place now? Aragorn did not think so.

He shook the body again, wondering if it would disintegrate under his touch. Why would Legolas not awake to give one final snide remark? Why would he not come telling him not to trample on every blade of grass like a troll? Why would he not just arise and race with him through the fields again? Why was their time together only so short, so momentary, so temporal? Why would he not return!

"Ai Valar!" Aragorn shouted into the air, "Will you not even save one, who has trusted in you, and vindicate against that which has mocked you?"

The wind howled even louder, twirling dried leaves, wrenching fresh ones into the air merrily. Another peal of thunder barraged down, and the rain fell as multitudes of tears, upon a swaddling of thick cloth. But it could not penetrate through; it could not wash away the fog that only closed in further and further, growing darker and darker.

"Legolas… why must you do this…" the tears were smeared across his face, and more parted unbidden from his eyes down through the dirt on his face.

The brine and rain blended as one, watering the ground like a shower upon arid land. Aragorn seemed to be releasing his soul. How he felt so many emotions course through him, storm through him as he looked at the elf. How he wanted to hold the elf close and never ever let him go. But how inexplicably, he had lost a part of him when the elf had left; the elf had taken it with him, and was never going to return with it. Inexplicably, he was now empty, hollow… dead.

He was choking badly now, finding it more difficult to breathe with each sob, but he let his body be, he let his body shiver in the heartless cold, he let his body shudder with inner demons seemingly threatening to take him over. He still knelt in the same uncomfortable position, far too caught up to see anything, to hear anything, to feel anything other than grief. He could have been here for infinite ages; he could have been here for mere seconds. It did not matter now. The elf was gone. His bosom friend, his brother was gone.

And the Darkness was jeering at him, as though drawing power from his sorrow.

The Darkness had taken Legolas. Aragorn felt a deep rage boil within him. It was almost hatred, pure indignation that consumed him, that drove him further on. He wanted to strike out at the Evil, destroy it completely. No, he could not let matters end thus. Not when it concerned his dearest companion. He wanted to lash out at it with every weapon he could muster; he wanted to condemn it to eternal damnation. But he was powerless.

And for this, he wept anew.

He watched the blond hair fly softly in the wind, but he did not see anything. He listened to the wolf-like blizzard curling around him, but he heard nothing… He only cradled the elf more closely, more tightly to him, not wanting to accept that anything to happen. This could not be, this should not be!

"Legolas, Legolas…" his voice was perhaps the only thing that did not fail him, "ad-tolo, gwador nîn. Come back, my brother!"

He did not care if the elf could hear him, he did not care if the evil was mocking him, savouring his anguish, he did not care what anyone who passed would think of him. Every word of caution of fading into an unguarded state flew from his mind. He was past caring now. In fact, he wished that the Darkness would take him too, that some orc would simply pass by and fell him, or the lightning would strike him down. It was meaningless to go on thus. Without his pillar of strength, he was nothing.

His body felt too weak and frozen to move, to respond to him. The dizziness was back with a vengeance, and he felt strangely light-headed, despite the pulsating hammers within his head. He began hallucinating, seeing apparitions before him, sceptres in the fog waving to him, hearing the haunting voices sing to him. In the last shreds of consciousness that he managed to cling onto, he heard a crystal-bright horn resounding in the great mountains.

Like Oromë and his might Valaróma once again in pursuit of evil, his numbed mind managed to process.

Then, a deep voice stilled the wind and declared, "No evil shall befall the firstborn!"

"Then, there shall be hope…"

Aragorn had already fallen, still clutching the elf protectively, hands clasped on his.


	3. There Shall Be Hope

Chapter 3 – There Shall Be Hope

Chapter 3 – There Shall Be Hope

"Aragorn…"

Something was prodding him _very _insistently, alternating with concentrations of sudden coldness. He turned the other way sluggishly, moving a hard to swat whatever came to disturb his rest. The pokes persisted, and Aragorn let out a muffled groan, pulling his covers higher. By now, he could tell that he was on something soft like a bed, and that the coldness was from drops of water. Just who was torturing him?

Drip, drip…

"Aragorn…"

Was it some phantom from the shadows? Some yet to be discovered manifestation of evil? His mind grew alert once more, listening out for any sign.

"Aragorn…"

Wait, that sounded familiar.

"Who-who are you?" his parched lips moved slightly.

That had been a light voice, seemingly elven. Ada? No, Lord Elrond was not that free to bug him thus. The twins? No, they always came as a pair. Which left…

"Le-Legolas?" he stammered, his eyes springing open.

"Yes, lazy human. I see you have finally decided to awaken," an image of a smiling face came surfaced.

Aragorn was confused, but he did not know why he should be. Legolas? There was something wrong about that.

"And, before you ask, no, neither of us is dead," a reassuring a cheerful voice responded to his thoughts.

Aragorn stared harder, watching as the blond hair, the fair face, blue eyes, sharp nose, pointed ears, and those quirked lips came into focus. This was Legolas; no mistake about that.

Legolas moved closer towards him, tucking a stray lock of dripping wet hair – a very useful weapon against the man – behind his elegant ear, watching as the human struggled to make sense of what happened.

Aragorn definitely seemed lost; his memory was still fuzzy. So, Legolas was the one who was annoying him. And before that, they were in some field, it was raining, and Legolas had… Wait, Legolas had died, and he was here now. He himself had fallen unconscious, and… How did –

"Where are we? What happened? How did we get here?" Aragorn seemed as though he had just regained the capacity to speak, and was trying to ask every question all at once.

Legolas laughed; a bright sound that chased away the darkness, a clear laughter, more resounding, more powerful than any other that Arda had heard, more exuberant, more joyous than any other expression of gladness.

"Firstly, we are in Imladris; you've been snoring away for four dull days now. Secondly and thirdly, I do not know, only that one moment I was in the Shadow lands, the next, I was in Aman, and before I knew it, I was lying beside you on the threshold of Imladris. So, I brought you in, where you have been most lovingly tended to by Elrond –your father, if you have forgotten – who has just left to check on a most terrible earthquake in the library, which was where Elladan and Elrohir – who are your brothers – have been last spotted," Legolas breathed deeply, rather pleased that he had said it all within a mere two breaths.

Aragorn seemed to be overwhelmed by all that his friend had said.

So, I have a father and two brothers? he thought wryly.

"Oh," he said finally.

Then, suddenly, something dawned upon him.

"Library?" he asked, "did you say 'library'?"

"Yes," Legolas wore a bemused look; he did not like the sound of that, "what have you done this time?"

"So, it's what _I _have done, and not what _they_ have?" Aragorn said in mock anguish before spying Legolas' amused look, and continued cryptically, "When in their company, one tends to learn things…"

Legolas tried to arch his eyebrow elegantly _à la_ Elrond, failed miserably, and was treated to Aragorn's equally carefree laughter. At least the human did understand what he was driving at.

"Actually, it isn't much," Aragorn elaborated when he had calmed down, "I left a little something for them when I last came this way, for fear that they would miss me too badly. It would seem that they've found it."

"What did you do?" Legolas over-enunciated each word. He had to admit: he was curious, yet he dreaded to find out what the particularly ingenious human had planned.

Aragorn's playful grin grew wider, "Shall we say that I rigged the bookshelves to one another and left some rope hanging, such that if you pull it, the first shelf falls –"

"And everything else comes down," Legolas finished, thinking that it would indeed have been a most splendid sight for the massive library to topple on itself, not that he disliked books and libraries, but, it would have been wonderful to witness it. He silently berated himself for not having gone with Lord Elrond, but perhaps, he would be better off being absent when the Elf Lord was bound to be incensed. The whole library… Legolas shook his head; just how long did Estel spend working on this plan!

"Oh, Estel!" he chuckled, "will you ever grow out of these!"

Estel managed to resist the urge to say 'No', but the answer was clearly visible in his eyes, and Legolas most definitely did not miss it.

But their shared mirth was not for long, as three angry and dishevelled Noldor elves, each with the same tussled up dark hair and an equally dark look on their faces, stormed into the room, and were very pleased indeed that the human was awake.

Legolas had retreated inconspicuously to a corner and sneaked out of the room, heading for the library to survey the battlefield-like zone. Thus, he was blissfully spared the bulk of the lectures on the importance of proper care of books, especially the rare volumes stored in the left corner (which, Legolas noticed, housed a well-used one titled 'Hundred and One Pranks to Play with Books').

Currently, Legolas thought that Mordor would have been a more peaceful and safer place to be in.

"Why do you _always_ have to create some form of trouble? Don't you know how much work was put into arranging these shelves of books?" it was Elladan speaking now.

Legolas sighed, picking up yet another worn rare volume with the title 'Templates for Effective Lectures' printed in fading golden ink, and flipped to the section on 'Care of Books'.

Quickly finding what he wanted, he read it aloud, even as Elrohir spewed it out from memory in a certain room some distance away, "Books are the most invaluable source of wisdom and history. They provide us with records and evidence of the past! Yet, they need proper care, and should never be treated so lightly! How can you do such an act with no thought of the damage done to the books? And worse, how can you do this to the entire library!"

Yes, Legolas would agree without hesitating that the library sure held unsurpassable surprises and knowledge. Guessing that the trio were nearing the end, he began to make his way back to the room and check on his dear friend.

Those elves seemed to have finally realised that Aragorn had regained consciousness, and as soon as Legolas stepped in, they started on another series of lectures on the proper care of human health (based on the chapter 'Do Not Touch Everything You See'). Estel shot a pitiful glance at Legolas, who was leaning in the doorway, highly amused by the incredible memory and stamina of the three lecturers, and looking nonchalantly at everywhere and everything except the human.

Estel was getting annoyed, and Legolas could feel the man glaring daggers at his refusal to help. Well, it was not as if he could help at all…

Legolas finally turned to face Estel and shrugged imperturbably, laughing at the way the human's shoulders slumped in defeat. Things were back to normal again. And they lived happily ever after, with the exception of Estel, who would always at the receiving end of the lectures until he had a child of his own…

End of Flashback

Legolas stretched slightly on his seat after handing in the manuscripts and he turned to smile at Aragorn, who had finished slightly earlier and was now flexing his fingers. Both of them were clearly wondering what their tutor would say to their works, should he be inclined enough to read them. And they did not have to wait long to find out.

"Why have the both of you written on the exact same thing?" it was a cold, soft voice.

Aragorn and Legolas exchanged looks of amazement.

"Get this clear: you have been asked to write a personal recount, not some myth or fairytale!" the visibly agitated tutor threw the scraps of parchment onto the floor, "no such thing can happen; you will not find such weapons, neither does the Valar interfere thus in the matters of Arda!"

But Legolas only smiled and winked at Aragorn.

"Believe it or not," Aragorn shrugged.

They knew better.


End file.
